Drunken Debauchery
by EreshkigalGirl
Summary: Rating for cursing and drinking. New Years Eve, and Remy buys beer for the unattended students. There's drinking, bets, and...Rogue wearing Kitty's dress?
1. Happy New Year

PRE-A/N: Bet you thought Panther and I would _never_ put another one up! Ha-ha! Hee hee. Hope you like it.

Over-all plot goes something like this: Remy buys booze for New Years. Students proceed to get hammered, while adults have their own party. There's a bet. Someone loses. There's a structural fire, and some rumors spread around that two somebody's did the nasty. Think you'll enjoy?

DISCLAIMER: Panther and I are humble college freshmen who don't even own the rooms we sleep in, much less any part of _Marvel_ industries. Nor do we own _SpongeBob_, or _The_ _Simpsons_.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!

The eggnog was out, Scott had gone to Hawai'i to spend Christmas and New Years with Alex, and his adopted parents, Jean was with her family, and the teachers were off having a party of their own. Most of the students had stayed behind this year because there was a new threat, and the homes of several mutants had been attacked over a two month period. The Professor hadn't thought is safe for many of the students to leave for a month or more, so he had a big multi-cultural holiday party for the students and their families at the beginning of December. (So, why are Scott and Jean missing, you ask? Because they're special. (A/N: And Panther and I didn't want them to spoil everyone else's fun!))

Now, with the adults blissfully elsewhere, the Rec. Room was the perfect atmosphere for an underage drinking party, courtesy of Remy's ID.

"Is good t' have a legal member o' de team, no?"

Most of the students were assembled in the Rec. Room by eight'o'clock, and playing a SpongeBob Squarepants drinking game.

"Oh! Squidward laughed! Drink!" Bobby commanded before slurping his crappy beer.

This resulted in many of the younger ones with not much body mass, and no experience, getting very drunk, very quickly, on very cheap beer. (Old Milwaukee, anyone?) Jamie was even stumbling around like Barney from The Simpson—not the big purple dinosaur. Tabitha, though….she was scary drunk. Way too friendly…way too hyper, plus the booze…bad combination. We're gonna leave it at that.

Remy, the source of all this madness, was watching the youngsters with an amused grin, reveling in the chaos. He knew he'd probably get in trouble on the morrow, but he didn't much care. Some of this was better than watching "Jack Ass."

After a visual pass of the room, he noticed that Sam and Rogue were pretty much fine. Whell, he couldn't have that. It would be no fun, now would it? So Remy made his way to the far corner, where Rogue sat with her third beer, watching the stupidity, and then over to the couch were Sam was chugging his forth. (A/N: by the way, he's gotten taller lately. He finally hit that growth spurt! Yay, Sammy!) Each one, he motioned out into the hallway. When all three were gathered together, Remy gave them a wicked grin. "Looks like only de Southerners dat c'n hold dey liquor, huh?"

"Please," Sam snickered. "Ah been drinkin' since Ah was ten, an' this crap you bought ain't nowhere near as strong as the stuff my uncle brews in his basement."

Rogue added a smirk of her own. "An' Ah haven' thrown up since ah was thirteen, an' that was only because Ah was so drunk Ah thought it'd be fun ta go on the Tilt-a-Whirl."

"Well, no big, spinnin' carnival rides 'round here, chere," Remy observed, "an' I c'n pick de lock on de Prof.'s liquor cabinet."

Rogue and Sam cast looks at the other. They had a silent conversation of "You up for it?" and "Are _you _up for it?" with an undercurrent of "Will you protect me if he tries to jump in my pants while I'm inebriated?" and, on the other end "Will _you_ try to protect _me_ if he tries to jump in my pants while inebriated?" They found that they were in agreement, and that either would protect the others virtue, since neither one trusted an admittedly opportunistically bisexual Remy not to try something. (A/N: Panther and I've had long discussions on Remy's sexuality, and we've come to the conclusion that while his preference is girls, he will do a guy if it's a group thing, or if he can't find a chick and he happens to be up for it at the time.)

"Yo on, Cajun," Rogue said with a saucy glint in her eye.

Remy caught the glitter in those pretty green eyes, and tossed her back the Devil's own grin. He led them to the small, breakfast table in the kitchen that no one ever used, because it was _too_ small, and had them sit down. He disappeared for several minutes, while Sam and Rogue…well, they just kind of stared blankly at each other. They didn't talk much on a regular basis, and had no idea what to talk about now.

In a bit, Remy came back to find Rogue at one end of the table, and Sam sitting on one side. In one hand the Cajun carried a bottle of clear liquid, and in the other, three shot glasses.

"Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-DUNT-DUNT! Te-quila!" he sang. "Ready?"

The other two laughed and nodded, and Remy took his place at the table, across from Sam, and next to Rogue. He passed out the glasses and began to pour. His own glass had just gotten filled when the sound of Ororo's voice drifted down the hall to the kitchen, headed that way.

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POST-A/N: Muah-ha-ha-ha! Short first chappy, I know. We wanna keep you interested, don't we? Review, and come back soon.


	2. Yet more booze

PRE-A/N: Jeeze!!! Everybody keeps jumping down our throats about Remy's sexual preferences! Chill yourselves. We're not saying that Remy's going to leave Rogue for some guy (we're very adamant ROMY shippers, you know!), or that he hangs out in gay bars, or that he's a particular fan of The Village People. We're just saying that he's open minded, and he's not averse to experimenting if he feels like it on a certain occasion. That occasion would probably involve at least one female, and/or a lot of booze being consumed.

Sam was just being paranoid, quite frankly. He's still unsure of his own sexuality, so he's taking it out on Remy's over-active sex drive. And, in case you haven't read _Eggrolls, Cock & Things_, yes, Sam is gay, he's just not out yet. Panther and I have a pet-project of hooking him and Roberto up together. There's not much slash in this fic, though. Barely any. One little minuscule blip, and then nothing. Well, maybe some St. John quips later on, but that's all.

-Sweety: Don't worry. More booze later. Tequila for now.

-Ish: Thank you! You were the only one who was backing us up on this whole "Remy's Preferences" issue. And, of course he's sticking with Rogue. He loves her, he just doesn't know it yet. Neither does she. Little spoiler: They're closer together at the end of this fic than they are at the beginning. It's a slow process, but Panther and I are nudging them. Neither of us believe in that whole "love at first sight" drivel that some folks rely on. It's not plausible, and it's not very fun.

-GothikStrawberry: It would be hilarious to see 'Ro drunk…but not in this fic. Sorry.

-MoonSanctum: The adults aren't gone, they're just in the Prof.'s private apartments at the Institute having their own party while the kids have theirs.

DISCLAIMER: not ours in any way, shape or form. Got that? Don't sue.

CHAPTER 2

The three occupants of the kitchen looked up toward the hallway, where Storm's voice was coming from. Remy was the first to recover from that feeling of "oh shit" and took charge of the situation. He slammed back his shot, then Rogue's, then Sam's, and kept each glass after he had drained it. He then picked up the bottle of tequila, stood up, and headed for the door to the lower levels.

"Meet me in my room," he said as he ducked out.

Sam and Rogue just watched him leave.

"Did he have salt?" Sam asked.

"No," Rogue said, shaking her head. "No lemons, eithah."

When Ororo finally walked in, she saw Rogue and Sam going through the cupboards and pantry. "What are you two looking for?"

"Salt," Sam answered, his speech not even a little slurred yet.

"Oh?" she asked. "What for? The shaker is here on the table, Sam."

"Fries," Rogue said, stepping down from the little ladder that she had been using to look on the top shelves in one of the cabinets.

"You have fries?" Ms. Munroe asked skeptically, seeing that there were no fries in the kitchen.

"Yeah," Rogue said, keeping the lie going. "They'ah out in the Rec. Room. Sam stole 'em an' started sharin' 'em. Once his grubby hands've touched 'em, ya know Ah won't eat 'em. 'Parently, though, they weren't salty enough fo' Sam. Uh…would ya hand me that orange from the table?"

Ororo picked up the orange and handed it to Rogue, a not-quite-convinced expression teasing about her eyes. Rogue thanked her, and the two Southerners left the room.

"An orange?" Sam asked, his face scrunched up at his drinking partner.

"Well, a lemon an' salt woulda been obvious," she said. "'Sides, it's citrus." (A/N: Neither one of us knows if oranges would be a good substitute for lemons or not. Blame Panther!)

Sam, buzzed as he was, was the logic in this, and they continued down the hall in silence. When they were all assembled in Remy's room, the Cajun pulled out the shot glasses and tequila once again.

"What's wit' de orange, chere?"

"It's the only non-obvious piece o' citrus we had that wouldn'a tipped off Ms. Munroe," Rogue explained for the second time while using her fingers to peel said fruit.

"Well den, let's try dis one mo' time," Remy declared.

Sam and Rogue remembered how he had casually shot back the drinks that he had poured for each of them downstairs and traded very impressed looks. They knew they'd never be able to out-drink Remy any more than they could have out-drunk Wolverine, but now they wondered if they'd be passed out and he'd still be only slightly woozy.

Remy caught the feelings behind the looks his drinking comrades were tossing back and forth to each other and couldn't repress a cocky grin. "C'mon, kiddies, what we waitin' for?"

Rogue split the orange slices up amongst the three of them, while Sam readied himself for his first shot by sprinkling salt on the back of his hand. (A/N: I saw that in a movie, so I think it's right.) In very little time they were on their fourth round…or was it their seventh? It was hard to tell at that point. Sam straddled the back of a desk chair that Remy never used—the desk, or the chair—and was, for some reason known only to him, staring up at the ceiling, and feeling kind of dizzy. Rogue was relaxing in an armchair that Remy had snuck into his room from who-know-where, and she was feeling very, verrrrrry good.

"Hey, look," Sam said, pointing up. "Th'rrs a lil' cracks in the ceilin' in the shape of a Chris'mss tree."

The other two looked up—Rogue from her chair, and Remy from his seat at the head of his bed, leaning against his pillows, propped up against the headboard—and lo, there was a Christmas tree on Remy's ceiling.

"But there's no star on top," Rogue pointed out.

Sam stood up, a little wobbly, and positioned himself under the top of the "tree," near the end of Remy's bed. He lifted his arm up, extended his index finger, and, using a little bit of his power, he jumped. Plaster came fluttering down around him as he landed, and got in his mouth, making him spit and sputter, which caused Rogue and Remy to break out in laughter.

Rogue looked up at the ceiling at the now starred tree above Remy's bed.

"How'm I gonna explain dat t' administration?" Remy asked, meaning the small crater on his ceiling.

There were a few moments of quiet speculation while some of the thoughts that ran through their minds were of how to explain the ceiling damage. Most of their thoughts were too drunkenly sporadic to classify. One of Rogue's thoughts—part explanation, and part just out-there and dirty—was that the position of the crater, at the end of the bed, looked like Remy had jacked off and his cum had exploded part of the ceiling. (A/N: Are you shocked? You should know by now how down-right vulgar I am!) This thought caused Rogue to start giggling and snorting in her arm chair, drawing the attention of the two males.

"What?" they asked.

Rogue shook her head and used the shaker to apply salt to the one hand she had ungloved. "No way. Ah'm not _that_ drunk yet."

Remy just decided to go with it. He enjoyed watching her loosen up. He always knew that Rogue was way too uptight, and now with the bubbly version to compare the aggressive outcast against, he was sure that his influence was just the thing she needed to relax.

"Hey," Sam said after he finished biting into his slice of the orange. "Why don' we get somethin' besides tequila? Ah bet Logan's got some bettah stuff stashed somewhere 'round here."

Rogue motioned frantically, her mouth full of liquid, while Sam and Remy watched in confusion. After swallowing her shot, she said, "Ah know where it is!"

"Where what is?"

"Logan's stash!"

With that, Remy stood up, Rogue jumped out of her seat, and Sam sort of stumbled out of his chair. Rogue laughed and, in a gesture of inebriated good-will, helped the Kentucky boy right himself.

Once Sam had his legs beneath him, Rogue led the way out to the garden shed. When they were in with the door closed behind them and the little Tap Lite illuminating the inside, she went over to the tool wall. A strategic movement of the #2 screwdriver opened the Batcave-like booze hall that belonged to Logan. Wide grins spread over their faces and they moved to take their choice of contraband. Sam picked up a bottle of Kaluha, despite the fact that he'd be mixing his own damn drinks. A dark brown bottle of bourbon for Remy, and Rogue chose whatever was in the clear bottle with no label.

They all trooped back inside with all possible stealth (please read with sarcasm), and headed for Rogue and Kitty's room, since it was closer to the kitchen door than Remy's room was, and they didn't want to stay in the kitchen and risk another interruption from one of the teachers. Sam paused at the refrigerator and grabbed the entire newly opened plastic gallon of milk upstairs with him.

"Ya know, Sammy, Ah think they'll notice spiked milk," Rogue pointed out after she kicked off her shoes, plopped down on her bed and started struggling to open the bottle she'd claimed.

Sam took a seat at Kitty's vanity. Once he was comfy, he took a drink of his Kaluha, then, without swallowing, he took a drink from the jug of milk and swished the two together in his mouth before he drunk the mixture down. He grinned at Rogue and repeated the process.

Remy chuckled and sat down on the edge of Kitty's bed. He switched his attention to Rogue, who was sitting, like he had been in his room, propped up against the pillows at the head of the bed, with her feet crossed at the toe-socked ankles, still trying to open the top on her drink. Given a few more seconds, he got tired of snickering at her ineffectual bottle opening skills and took it from her hands. After a bit of persuasion, Remy handed rogue back a neckless bottle, much to her amusement.

"Ooooh, the big, strong man couldn' get it open, eithah," she teased him.

"Jes' be careful wit' de sharp edges," he grumbled.

Rogue smirked at him and took a drink. As the liquid slithered down her throat, she did a full-body shudder. Seeing this, Sam started to laugh so hard he fell of the vanity stool and just laid there.

Remy took a swig of his own and winced. Very old whiskey, by the taste. He looked over at Rogue just in time to catch another shudder. He glanced at Sam on the floor, still dazed and really starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.

"Hey, chere? Since he's out of it, wanna play a game?"

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POST-A/N: Dirty, dirty minds, all of you! I know what you're thinking…

Just a little bit of nothing: while typing this out from it's original written form (cerca March 2003) I kept getting very confused about what Panther wrote and what I did. I mean, the handwriting is different, but the lines between her voice and my own got really blurred. There were things I was so sure she wrote that I actually did, and that I thought I wrote that were in her handwriting. Not that I'm complaining. I think it's really cool. Just kinda weird, and yet more evidence that she and I spend way too much time together.

That had nothing to do with anything really. I just felt like sharing.


	3. A little game

PRE-A/N: Woot-woot! It's almost winter break and I get to go home and see my family and friends, and finals…are not quite over yet, but they will be by Wednesday. Woo-woo! Uh-huh! Mm-hmm! Yeah-yeah! Wish me luck on my math and lit exams, guys!

-Sweety: Uh…what _is_ Everclear? I mean, besides the band.

-SickMindedSucker: Logan…_chuckle_ Yeah, that's gonna be funny.

-sheild-maiden: Jenga while drunk. That would be interesting. And, I get ya on that weird word thing. Sometimes they just don't look right. The English language is a tricky thing.

-heartsyhawk: Oh, I'm sorry. Don't worry, other than a little funny innuendo later on, that was the worst of it. Sorry I shocked you.

-ish: Oh, how we love you. )

DISCLAIMER: (EG tunes up for solo- mmmm!) Oh, if I were a rich (wo)man! Deedle-deedle-doodle-deedle-do! I would own a share of Marvel comics, and this fic would not have to be disclaimed! (round of applause!)

"What _kinda_ game?" Rogue asked, her eyes narrowed in suspision.

Remy caught her drift and grinned. "Dat wasn' exactly what I had in mind, but if you wanna…"

She snorted at him. "In yo' dreams, Swamp Rat."

"Ev'ry night, cherie," he agreed.

"Ah'm still down here, ya know," Sam called from the floor. "An' Ah'm not deaf."

Remy laughed. "Actually, chere, what I was t'inkin' was a game of Indian Wrestling. Heard of it?"

"Isn' that where ya line up the shots in front of ya, and then the two people playin' try to out-drink the othah befo' passin' out?" she asked, then took another drink of her clear alcohol, which induced another full-body shudder.

"Yeah, dat's it. So, you wanna play?"

Rogue thought about it, interspersed with tiny sipps of her drink. "Are there stakes?" she asked. "Ya usually see money goin' 'round when people play this game."

"If ya wanna play fo' stakes, sure," he said. "But, t' be honest, cherie, I ain't got no cash on me at de moment."

_Liar_, she thought.

"Ah know," Rogue announced a few seconds later. "If Ah win, I get ta put mah make up on ya an' parade ya 'round like a dress goth-up doll…er, goth dress-up doll. Ya eyes're jus' so damn hot with eyelinah 'round 'em."

He smiled at that. He had finally gotten her to admit he was hot. Good day, good day.

"Okay," Remy said out loud. "An' if _I_ win, you get ta be _my_ dress up doll."

Rogue's brain was all fuzzy and tipsy, and the warmth flooding her veins felt so good that at that point, she didn't bother to wonder what he'd dress her up as. "Yo' on, but don't be sad when ya lose."

Remy tamped down the huge grin that wanted to crack his face open wide. His plan was working, to his mild surprise: Get Rogue drunk, make a move on her, get her as naked as possible, and see what he could do about having some touch-related fun. This was going just wonderful. In his head, he started humming the Star Wars theme song.

The two competitors cleared off the two nightstands that were between Rogue and Kitty's beds, then set up their shot glasses between them. Remy poured from his bottle first, and knocked back his first "official" shot with only a little grimace. Rogue, prepared this time, managed to swallow hers with a quick shake of the head, and nothing more.

Remy smiled at her encouragingly. _Yeah,_ he thought,_ get as drunk as you want. Dis is gonna be fun._

Rogue smiled back for the pure, alcohol-induced hell of it. After all, with that much whiskey and tequila in her, it just seemed like the thing to do, and she was pretty much fine with that.

They'd each downed two more shots when Kitty stumbled in and made a bee-line for her bed. Remy noticed her destination, so he got up before Kitty tripped and found herself face down on her mattress, her knees and bottom half of her legs still hanging off the bed. With a moan, she crawled the rest of the way in and buried her face in her pillow.

"I so don't feel good," she mumbled.

"Jus' don' throw up in bed," Rogue warned her friend. "That's what the winduh's for."

Kitty moaned again. Whether in annoyance or thanks, no one was quite sure.

"Should we stay here, or look fo' a quieter place ta co…cont…keep drinkin'?" Remy asked, too inebriated to use big words. (A/N: he was trying to say "continue".)

"Ummmmmmmmmm," Rogue said.

Sam started to sing Garth Brooks' _Two Pinacolatas. _This educated those in the room to two things: one—it's true that anything is funny when you're drunk; and two—Sam should not sing where anyone can hear him. In response to both of these facts, Kitty moaned.

Rogue shot Kitty an annoyed look. "Le's go downstairs, sugah. Or yo' room is good. Whatevah's closah."

That wasn't exactly how he'd imagined her ever saying that, but Remy took what he could get, under the circumstances. As he walked to the door to usher her out, Remy wondered if she knew how long he'd wanted her to say that they should go to his room. Probably not.

"Doan fo'get ya glass, chere," he reminded her.

She had to go back across the room to retrieve it from the end table.

"While ya over dere, get de bottle o' whiskey, too. Non, not de broken one; mine."

Rogue scowled at him.

A moment later, they walked into the hallway, leaving Sam on the floor, humming a new song—probably one he'd just invented—and Kitty periodically moaning and shooting Sam watery death glares.

On the way to Remy's room, the two Southerners found that the carpet was much lumpier than usual. Rogue was practically clinging to the walls and cursed mildly when she stumbled. Just before they reached the corner that branched off into the Professor's apartments—where the grown-ups party was that night—and the boy's wing, Rogue caught her foot on something or other and started to fall forward with an undignified, "Wooooh!"

Remy reached out to catch her, still holding the whiskey bottle, which he'd luckily remembered to put the cap back on. (A/N: We'll say that he'd put it in his pocket when he opened the bottle.) Rogue grabbed his arm and tried to turn herself around to regain her footing, but that ended up pulling Remy off balance, and they both ended up sprawled on the floor.

While Rogue started laughing like a maniac, it took Remy a second to register the change from vertical to horizontal. When he did, he found that he _really_ liked horizontal better. He propped himself up on his elbows and leered down at Rogue as her laughter subsided.

"Dat worked well."

She sighed out a two syllable laugh and shook her head. "Remy, sugah, much as Ah'm enjoyin' ya layin' ovah me, get the _hell_ off."

He grinned wider. "'D I jus' hear y' say y' like dis?" He was a little shocked, a little smug, and still just a little too dizzy to stand up at the moment.

"Yeah, well, ya obviously didn't hear me say: get off." She frowned up at him. "We cain't do this in tha hall. Let's get ta yo room."

During all this, Dr. McCoy was inadvertently eavesdropping. He walked away before the two students figured out which way was up again. He didn't even want to know what had happened, or what was going to. This was his off night.

Remy finally got his feet under him and leaned down to help Rogue up. They made it to his room a few minutes later, where he collapsed onto his bed, and she sprawled out in the arm chair she had earlier vacated. One of her legs was over the arm of the chair, and the other hung down over the edge, so it was a good thing she was wearing pants.

Remy sat up and poured two more shots. He stood up to hand Rogue her glass, since he couldn't just pass it to her. When he sat back down, it was on the side of the bed closest to Rogue and the arm chair. After drinking her whiskey, Rogue looked up to see Remy watching her. There was a weird, almost serious look on his face, and it sort of creeped her out. Not creepy like "Ah! Run for the hills!" but more creepy like "Do I have something stuck in my teeth?"

"What?" she grunted.

"Nuthin'," he replied quickly. He honestly hadn't realized he was staring. He was surprised to find that he was a bit embarrassed, and shook his head to try and dislodge the feeling. He drank his shot and poured them each another drink as soon as Rogue handed her glass back to him.

He didn't immediately give the full shot glass back to her. Instead, he opened his big mouth, uncharacteristically without thinking, just to cover up the embarrassment with something to say.


	4. Follies of the Drunk

PRE-A/N: I'm typing this while at home for winter break; sans internet access. That's right, I'm back to uploading at the library. Damn.

-heartsyhawk: We made you fear drunk people? That's so great. Sorry we're making you want to run away. Hope you stick in there.

-Chica de los Ojos Café: You are so mean to Rogue. Of course, Remy has the same idea, so we can't be too mad.

-ish: Oooo… "Face got run over by a 10-wheeler?" Ouch. Oh well. Besides, we all know our Rem's way hot!

-SickmindedSucker: You're so evil. We love you.

-Relwarc: Oh, THANK you so much! Only Ish agreed with us about Remy's sexual preferences. Thank you, thank you, thank you! We totally agree. And, yes, that Sam/Bobby comment _did_ sound dirty. Hope you like Sam and 'Berto together, as well.

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Dr. McCoy walked back into the Professor's private living room to rejoin the party. Ororo came in a moment later, shaking her head. She had been on a second trip to the kitchen, this time to get more ice from the freezer. Hank wondered what she had seen to make her look so disapproving, and if it had anything to do with Remy's room.

"Has anyone else noticed that the children are acting strangely? Well," Ororo amended, "stranger than usual, anyway."

Logan took the ice tray from 'Ro's hands. She smiled down at the shorter man, and he gave her a little, one-sided grin back, along with a wink. "It's New Year's Eve; let 'em have their fun for one night," he declared.

"That is exactly what she is worried about, I think," Charles said.

The adults looked back and forth between each other and came to the same conclusion: Not their problem tonight. Tomorrow they'd deal with it. (A/N: Can't have them running to ruin our fun, can we?)

&&&&&

Back in Remy's room, Rogue drunkenly glared at the Cajun. "Tha's the stupides' thang Ah evah heard you say."

He shrugged, glad that the awkward moment had passed. (A/N: Neither of us knows what he said. It's one of those great mysteries, like Stonehenge, or the Pyramids, or the mystery flavor in Dr. Pepper.) He did, however want to get back to what she had said out in the hall. "So, whaddja mean, 'ya liked me over you'?" he asked.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Didn' mean nuthin', Swamp Rat. Stop tryin' ta ruin ever'thiang."

"Not tryin' t' ruin anythin', Cherie." Remy settled back against his pillows again and dropped it, if only for the moment. He poured another two shots for round…whatever they were on now. He held her glass out for her. She reached out to take it from him. There was a good six or seven feet between the chair and where Remy sat on the bed, so the reaching was pretty ineffectual.

"Ah cain' reach," Rogue complained and pouted, letting her arm drop.

"So come an' get it, lazy ass," Remy said, smirking at the double meaning.

Rogue stuck her tongue out at him, but slung her leg off the arm of her chair and stood up. Little spots started to shimmer in front of her eyes as she leaned too far forward. Arms caught her before she splattered on the floor. Rogue looked up once the fuzziness eased back from her vision and kind of smiled at Remy.

"Come up here," he told her. "Ya too drunk ta stand on ya own."

Remy pulled Rogue up onto the bed with him so that she could get her equilibrium back. Rogue kicked off her boots and leaned back against the pillows Remy'd recently vacated for a reason she'd already forgotten, and made herself comfortable. Once she settled in, she reached out for the shot of whiskey and tossed it down her throat, once again, shivering from the sharp alcoholic burn.

_She really _is _drunk,_ he thought happily. _I'm so gonna win._ Once again, the Star Wars theme played internally. Victory was only a few shots away, he was sure.

Rogue was happy to lean back, drink, and take in the details about Remy she usually tried to ignore. Like how his T-shirt was a little tight through his shoulders, and that his eyes were really the damn coolest things she had ever seen. How tall he was—six-foot-two—and those long legs. It was small things, like the cording of the muscles in his forearms as he poured himself another drink, his big hands (she had a definite fascination with his hands), and there was something about his collar bones that was just plain distracting. Even barely conscious, her imagination was being no frickin' help at all.

Rogue shook her head and took the shot he offered her from his new seat on the edge of the bed. She sat up to drink it, then let herself flop back against the pillows and headboard, her arms flung out. She frowned, looking side to side. She had just noticed something. "Ya know, Ah think ya have th' only queen sized bed in th' ins'i…inss'too…in th' whole damn p-place."

"Helps t' be one o' de _'adults'_ 'round here." He added a very sexy smile, and rolled onto his stomach. He crawled closer to her until his head right above the waist band of her black jeans. He dropped his chin to her pelvic bone and rubbed slowly back and forth.

"Ah think Ah'm'a get mah nose pierced," Rogue announced.

Remy stopped and frowned up at her. He hadn't exactly planned on that being the conversation turn. He'd had a _whole_ different direction in mind.

"Ya nose, huh, Cherie?"

Wow. Oh the sparkling repartee was really flowing in _that_ room.

"Uh-huh." She nodded against his pillow. "Eithah that, or mah eyebrow, since Ah already did mah belly button."

"You did?" Remy asked. He went up onto his elbows and pulled up the hem of her shirt, taking his life into his hands. "Huh. Look at dat. Ya pale all over."

Surprisingly Rogue let him see her spikey orange naval ring, giving him only a little, "Be careful. Ah'm ticklish."

"I'll 'member dat, Chere."

She breathed out a little laugh. "You do that, sugah."

Remy was about to say something, but Rogue's eyelids fluttered down. And up. And down again. "Mmm…Rem…Ah'm cold."

"No prob, Chere. I c'n warm you up."

She tried to smile, but her mouth wasn't working too well. She said something that sounded like it might have been, "Ah bet you could," and then she passed out.

Remy lay there, propped up on his arms, and studied her sleeping face intently. He briefly wondered if his boxers had been this small when he'd put them on that morning. Snorting out a sigh, he contented himself that he'd at least won the bet, and then let himself pass out, too.

&&&&&

Meanwhile, Sam—still in Rogue and Kitty's room—was busy bugging the holy crap out of the valley girl by singing every song he'd ever heard in his life. "Ah've got a luv-i-ly buncha co-co-nuts, deedely deedely doo."

"Saaaaaaamm," Kitty grumbled, half her face buried in her pillow. "For the love of goodness…_shut up!_" She pulled the pillow out from under her cheek and through it at him, just to help get her message across.

Sam responded by stopping his singing, and starting to laugh like an idiot. Not five seconds into it, he stopped laughing very suddenly and ran for the balcony windows. A few seconds after that, Kitty was treated to the sounds of Sam tossing his cookies—oh joy for her.

The person below the window wasn't too happy about it, either.

"Hey!"

Bobby had been drunkenly ice skating on the pool that had frozen over, and then he smoothed off, only a few minutes ago. He had been having fun before the urge to puke—a result of drinking too much, too fast, and then trying to do a triple sow-cow—had come over him, so he had gone to a bush to throw up. The bush was right under Rogue and Kitty's balcony. And now Bobby got to see what it felt like to be that bush, as regurgitated milk and Kalhúa fell on him.

"Sorry," Sam said thickly from above. He stayed over the rail of the balcony just long enough to see Bobby flip him the bird.

Not two minutes later, Sam stumbled out of Rogue and Kitty's room with Kitty yelling drunken expletives at the Kentucky boy's back. He was pretty sure that she had learned most of them from her roommate, because there were a few really creative ones that Sam didn't think Kitty had thought up on her own.

The poor teen collapsed a few steps down the hallway, unable to keep his feet under him, or his stomach under control. It was a very good thing that Sammy's knees buckled near one of the big potted plants Ms. Munroe had scattered about the Institute. His stomach lurched, and up came the rest of its contents into the fern.

Roberto had been coming down from seeing a singing, maniacal Tabitha to her room before she hurt someone. He had left her with Jubilee and washed his hands of the mess.

Honestly, he didn't get American drinking habits. There was no drinking age in Brazil, and he, frankly, had never felt the need to get smashing drunk. Whatever. Not his problem. He'd dropped Tabitha off with her roommate, and now he was going to bed.

Just as he turned the corner that led to the boy's hall, he came across a rather pathetic, blond-mulleted classmate, puking his guts out into a potted fern. With a long suffering sigh, Roberto went to hold Sam's hair out of his face while the boy continued to throw up.

Once his stomach was empty, Sam slumped to the floor. He started making pathetic little noises, and, every once in a while, closed his eyes tightly to block out the hall light.

Roberto muttered under his breath and knelt down in front of his friend. "Sammy? Hey, Sam? Think you can walk back to your room?"

Sam opened his eyes to look at the speaker, almost too drunk to recognize him at first. "'Berto? Mmmmm… Ah don' fil good."

"I guessed that. Can you walk?" he repeated.

Sam thought about it and shook his head.

Roberto hung his head for a second, thinking. Sam was bigger than he was, and heavier. There was no way 'Berto could carry him on his own, at least not without using his powers, and the sun was still hours from coming up.

"Look, Sammy, you have to help me here. I'll help you up, and you can lean on my, but _you_ have to walk. Okay? Sam!"

"Mm? Okay, yeah."

Roberto pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders and slid his won around the other boy's waist. Sam, on the other hand, was just sober enough—or drunk enough, depending on how you look at it—to get paranoid. "Watch were ya put'cha hands," he warned Roberto with a frown.

'Berto rolled his eyes and repositioned Sam's arm more securely over his own shoulders. "Oh yeah, Sam, the only reason I'm helping you is because I wanted to feel you up. Grow a brain."

"'M jus' sayin'…"

"That you're a paranoid little freak?" Reberto asked. "I got the memo, thanks. Now, come on. We're standing up on the count of three. One, two, three."

After a lot of pulling, and Sam turning a little green again, they got to their feet and headed for the boy's wing. The halls were deserted, so Sam's weaving walk didn't bother anyone but Roberto, who was beginning to wish he'd just left Sam to pass out in the hallway. When he got to Sam and Evan's shared room—of course, with Evan AWOL, the room was just Sam's—Roberto reached out to push the door open. He tugged his friend over to the twin bed that looked slept in, the one with the poster of some American football player above the headboard, and let Sam sit down. Sam grunted and grumbled, then laid down, his feet still hanging off the bed.

"You are pathetic," Roberto said, shaking his head down at his friend. He sighed, and squatted down to tug Sam's brown, suede work boots off his feet, then lifted his stokinged feet up onto the bed so that Sam was lying down. "You better say thank you in the morning, or I'm telling Storm you puked in one of her plants."

"'Berto?" Sam mumbled, opening one eye.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks…y' th' bes'," he slurred, managing a weak smile, and then he officially passed out.

"And you're a sad, drunken little ass-wipe," Roberto said. But, after a second, he smiled down at Sam's sleeping face. "Admittedly, though, you're a _cute_, sad, drunken ass-wipe. Sleep tight, Sammy. See you in the morning."

Roberto closed the door behind him when he walked out.

&&&&&

After Bobby flipped Sam off, he went back inside. He surveyed the destruction in the Rec Room. Many had puked. Most were now in bed, or sleeping on the floor, or one of the couches. He wondered if this would ever happen again. And then he went to go take a shower before collapsing onto his fuzzy flannel sheets and drifting into a near-coma for the next 12-18 hours.

A quick glance at the VCR clock showed that it was 12:47 AM. They'd all been too busy to watch the ball drop.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

POST-A/N: Sorry it took so long. The holiday season is a stressful time. Plus, Cincinnnait, Ohio—where Panther Nesmith and I live—got hit with a big snow storm, so it's taken a little while to get up to the library to update. Hope you had a good ChristmaChanuKwanzSolsiticaswinter holiday of some other ethnic origin that I don't know of.


	5. Good Morning Sunshine

A/N: I have nothing to say.

-fudje: Those were just examples, dork! And, how come we're bastards? Cuz we didn't say what Remy said to Rogue to have her call him an idiot? Well, what do _you_ think he said, huh?

-Ish: I just tried to think of something completely out there and irrelevant for her to say. Glad you approve.

DISCLAIMER---disclaimed

New Year's Day was bright and clear, with the sun glittering on the remaining snow from the storm that had hit the area the week before. Not a one of the students was up before noon, and even then, Kitty was not the peppy bundle of joy she normally was. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her skin was too pale. None of the others who awoke periodically throughout the early afternoon looked much better. They were all way hung over, and a most of them were as grouchy as Satan with indigestion.

Much coffee was made that New Year's morning. Even Jamie tried coffee. He didn't like it, so he went for the next best caffeinated beverage (also, the only other caffeinated beverage he could find)—a root beer. In the end, however, that only made him toss chunks in the kitchen sink. Tabby went to take care of him. Why Tabby, you ask? She felt sorry for the poor thing, and she was the only female in the room at the moment who had a good deal of experience dealing with a hang over.

At 3:00, Ororo and the other adults called the students together in the Rec. Room. The den mother had found a beer can sticking out from under one of the couches, and everyone was in soooo much trouble. The students were assembled, and the teachers did a head count. There were still two missing.

"Where are Rogue and Remy?" Storm demanded, hands on hips and not too pleased that her rant was going to have to be stalled.

"Ummmm," Kitty said, her brows creased in thought as she tried to remember where they'd gone the night before. "They started off in my room…and then they left."

"They started talkin' 'bout sex, an' then they left," Sam supplied.

"Oh, dear," Dr. McCoy groaned, remembering what he'd overheard in the hall. "His room. They're in his room."

Even half sick and avoiding direct light, the students managed to enjoy that juicy little tidbit of gossip. Logan let loose a string of curses that would have made him the undisputed cussing champ in any country. After the initial shock, everyone who could make it, headed for the stairs. Professor Xavier rolled to the elevator in a slightly more dignified fashion.

"Look on the bright side," Lgoan growled, skipping stairs as he charged upward. "She might'a killed him _for_ us."

&&&&&&&&&

Remy heard what sounded like herd of bison on the stairs. He didn't want to deal with it, though; his head was killing him. Since he refused to get up, instead he snuggled his head deeper into his pillow and tried to get back to blessed sleep.

His pillow groaned.

_Pillows doan groan…_he thought.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Rogue heard thunder in the hallway. Except, the hallway was on the wrong side of her. She didn't feel like thinking about it just now. She was about to drift back into unconsciousness when her blanket started to snuggle into her protesting stomach, which made her groan in pain.

_But blankets don' snuggled,_ she thought, and cracked here eyelids just a little so that she could look down……straight into the coolest damn things she'd ever seen: Remy's eyes.

A flash of alarm went through her, stiffening her muscles, and she checked the rest of their bodies. Still fully clothed, she noted with relief, she saw that Remy's hand was curled up on her hip, his head on her stomach, and she was laying in his bed.

That was also what Logan and the rest of the Institute saw when the Canadian flung open Remy's bedroom door. Logan stopped and slid his claws out. Storm looked very disappointed, and about to issue both of them years and years worth of chores. The interested faces behind them were just too shocked to do anything but stare for a minute.

Remy had moved his head, without lifting it from her stomach, too look at the intruders, but Rogue's stomach still hadn't recovered from the first time, and her insides were _not_ happy with the punishment they were going through.

"Ah'm gonna be sick!" Rogue announced, pushing Remy off of her, and then rushed to the—thankfully—adjoined bathroom through the door at the other side of Remy's bedroom, and slammed it shut behind her. (A/N: That's right. Remy has his own bathroom. He doesn't? Well, he does now!)

"Good mornin' t' you too, cherie," he mumbled, and crawled up into a kneeling position on his bed.

"You'd better have a very good excuse for _this_ one, Remy," Storm warned him. "I am only _just_ managing to hold Logan back from gutting you."

"Looks like it's gonna get rough, folks," Ray said. "I don't know about you, but I'm not sticking around to get hit with flying hacked-off body parts."

The other students seemed to agree, so the crowd outside the door dispersed, leaving only the two teachers to glare in at Remy. Hank had even decided that two teachers, both of whom were on a rampage, were more than enough to take care of the malefactors. Xavier had never even bothered to show up.

"Um…" Remy needed a minute to think. "Would y' believe we fell asleep talkin' t' each other?"

Logan shook his head and Ororo tapped her foot.

Remy shrugged. "Well, it's de truth, so I doan know what t' tell ya."

Logan growled and started to make his way into the room, silently letting Remy know he needed a better excuse. Remy spared a moment to marvel at the unfairness of it all. He'd actually been telling the truth this time, and he was getting growled at. He should have just stuck with a lie. After his moment, Remy thought fast.

"I swear, mon ami, we were jus' talkin'—'bout how stupid Kurt 'n' Bobby are f' takin' y' liquer." He hid a grimace and hoped that no one noticed that little hesitation.

Logan stopped advancing. This time when he growled it was directed somewhere over Remy's head. He turned and stalked out of the room to go find and "talk" to Kurt and Bobby. This left just Ororo to handle the hormonal Cajun, and all she could do was stand and watch as her double-team attack died. By that point, she had lost hope for the day and turned back to Remy with greatly fizzled enthusiasm for doling out punishment.

They stared at each other for a little bit before Remy started to hope that she would either A) take pity on his hang over, or B) figure that he was just hopeless and let him go forward on his path to Hell, uninhibited. He started to give her his best "mischievous little boy" grin. She hardened her glare until he stopped and carefully laid back down on the bed, this time lying on his back.

Ororo sighed and put her hands on her hips. "I know that you are used to having the women that you want, but please, not the Institute girls. Outside these walls, it's your life. However, getting involved with Rogue, or with any of the girls here, is not something I recommend."

"Did ya give dis lecture t' Scott when he started datin' Jean?" Remy asked, and crossed his arms over his chest, sending 'Ro a glare to match her own earlier one.

"No, I did not," she said. "I did not have to."

Ororo turned to leave the room, but stopped in the doorway. She turned to look over her shoulder at the young man scowling on his bed. "Know that I say this because I have no desire to see Logan gut you, more than from a feeling of distrust. In my opinion, you have always made it quite clear that your…_attention_ to Rogue is different, more than what you give to the other girls when you flirt with them."

With that, Ms. Munroe walked out, closing the door behind her, and left Remy to mull over those parting words.

In a few moments, Remy heard the sound of the toilet flushing, and then the sound of water running in the sink, and what he thought was probably Rogue spitting out the water she'd used to rinse the taste of puke out of her mouth. A moment later, Rogue opened the bathroom door and walked out, carefully placing her feet, as if even that had to be done so that the vibration of putting her foot on the floor didn't cause her to crumble into little pieces. She avoided the balcony windows and tried to use her hand to hide from the sunlight.

"Mmmmmgh," Rogue rumbled in complaint. After she took a minute to look around, her eye brows creased together in confusion. "Where'd 'Ro an' Logan go?" she asked, her voice rusty.

"T' interrogate yo brothuh 'n' Bobby."

"Why?" Rogue asked, holding her head in her hands as she sank down in what was quickly becoming—at least to her mind—_her_ chair.

"I decided t' frame 'em fo' _our_ breakin' an' entering."

"What!?" she exclaimed. Her own shouting startled her and made her headache worse. "Mmmnn. Ah'm gonna hafta kick ya ass, ain' Ah?"

Remy sighed dramatically. "We went from cuddlin' t ass-kickin' in 10 minutes. Dat's a record, even f' me. I could kill Logan f'r interuptin'."

"As if anythin' was gonna happen, anyway," she countered.

Remy made the decision to screw Storm's advice and do what he wanted. "I'm still tired, how 'bout you?" He settled back and held out a hand to her.

Rogue hesitated. Her head hurt, and she was feeling like shit, and Remy really was very warm and comfy. But, in the end, she shook her head.

"Ah think Ah bettah go downstairs an' get some coffee."

Remy groaned, albeit very quietly, in exasperation and got up to follow Rogue downstairs. _So close!_

POST-A/N: Remy has only temporarily forgotten about the contest. Next chapter he will remember. I hope you'll enjoy it. I'm very tired.


	6. Remy vs Jabba the Hut

So sorry it's taken so long. I have excuses, but none of them are very good. I can only promise that I'll try to do better.

-Sweety: It'll only be about 2 or three chapters at most until Rogue is in Kitty's dress. However, chapter wise and _time_ wise are, obviously, different creatures entirely.

-Ish: Yeah, Kevlar is butter compared to Remy's ego.

DISCLAIMER-see previous chap, and the chap before that, and so on, and so on. Plus, I don't own Tylenol in any way.

WARNING: There's a particularly scathing bit of cussing in this chapter. I'm telling you know so that you're not shocked. You can skip it, or whatever.

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Rogue, and Remy, who was a few steps behind her, entered the kitchen with as much hesitation as she had left Remy's bathroom with. There were a lot of windows in the kitchen, and her eyes were just not having it. She stumbled over to the cabinet by the kitchen sink and reached in for the extra strength Tylenol. Inside, there were only about three left.

"Sorry, Rogue," Tabby said from the kitchen table. "I put it on the list for the last grocery day, but apparently _somebody_ thought we didn't need anymore when a half a bottle was still there."

Rogue gave her a little half-hearted wave over her shoulder, and a groan/mumble to go with it. As she dumped the drugs into her hand, Remy opened up the cabinet with the glasses and coffee mugs. He pulled out one for himself and was about to shut the door when Rogue caught his attention. "Han' me down a glass, sugah."

He went for the glass automatically. He wasn't up to thinking too deeply about anything yet. It was Tabitha, and the small group at the table, who caught the very out of character phrasing Rogue had just used. "Um…Rogue? Since when do you call him 'suger'?"

(A/N: cursing now!!!!) Well damn it all to mother fucking hell! Rogue looked back over her shoulder and glared hard at Tabby. She imagined the blonde girl being eviscerated by the strength of her glare. It didn't happen, but her point was gotten across when Tabitha leaned back in her chair and held her hands up in surrender. The rest of the room—even the appliances—decided that it would be better not to draw Rogue's notice.

Rogue took the glass Remy offered her and chose to ignore the little smirk he tried to hide. She poured some water from the tap and shot back the OTC meducation as deftly as she'd done the whiskey shots last night. She'd been good, Remy admitted to himself. But she'd still passed out before he did.

The bet!

"I won!"

Everyone looked strangely at him. It wasn't everyday that one of the most calmly collected people at the Institute shouted out "I won!" for no apparent reason in the middle of the kitchen while suffering a hangover.

"Huh?" Rogue summed it up for everyone.

" 'Member, chere?" he prompted. "Las' night we had a little bet t' see who could out drink de other."

Rogue wracked her brain. Unfortunately, she did vaguely remember something about a competition. Sam remembered slightly better though, and paused in putting a Saltine cracker in his mouth to help calm his stomach. "Oh yeah. Wasn' there somethin' about dressin' up dolls, or somethin'?"

"I t'ink, it was dat whoever won got to put de other in whatever clothes they wanted—like a dress-up doll," Remy explained.

Rogue glared and shouldered him out of the way in her quest for coffee. "So, what?"

"So, I won, an' you get t' be put in somethin' besides Goth all day."

After pouring her coffee and taking an experimental sip to see how her stomach was going to react. It was a little annoyed with her still, but accepted the coffee. She shrugged, careful not to spill the hot liquid. "Again, so what? What'd'ja have in mind?"

Now that he'd remembered the bet, he remembered what he'd been planning to put her in since last night. He grinned, and poured the rest of the coffee into the mug he'd gotten down moments before. He wasn't in a rush. He refilled the coffeemaker, and added some more ground beans to the filter.

"_Well_?" Rogue demanded.

"Ya seen _Star Wars_, right?" he asked. "De originals, I mean."

"Yyyeaaaaah."

He turned to face her fully, just grinning away. "I wan' ya ta dress up like Princess Leia."

"In all white an' with pastries on the side o' mah head?"

He shook his own slightly. "I was t'inkin' mo' along de lines of _Return of the Jedi_. I'm sure I could find a gold bikini for ya somewhere, cherie, even in winter."

Rogue's brows creased together, and her mouth dropped. She was horrified! "No!"

"Ya gotta, you lost."

"No friggin' fuckin' way!"

"Yes."

"No."

"Oh, do it! Do it!" Tabitha cheered. The other people at the table agreed.

"See?" Remy asked. "Ya gotta."

"No. An' if ya try ta make me, Ah'll…Ah'll…Ah'll tell Logan on ya! An' think how mad he's gonna be when Ah tell 'im whose idea it was ta get 'is liquor from the beer-shed!"

"It was Sam's idea."

"That's not what Ah'll tell him. Now add that ta how mad he was this morin'."

Remy didn't want to risk his own hide quite that much. He lost the smile and narrowed his eyes. "Fine den. But ya still gotta dress up."

"Fine, but within reason, Swamp Rat."

He thought a while. What was something that would look good on rogue, show off some skin—skin that he'd really like to see, and was totally out of the ordinary, but that wouldn't get his flesh stretched out and tacked to the wall of Logan's beer shed? Ah-ha!

"Kitty? Ya mind if Rogue borrows one'a ya dresses for a day?"

"What!" Rogue exclaimed. "Uh-uh!"

"Come on, chere, it's totally wit'in de rules."

Why had she agreed to this? It was so dumb! But she couldn't let herself look like a coward, or like she went back on her word, or that she backed down from something. "Oh, fine. Ah might as well get this ovah with. When mah asprin an' coffee start kickin' in, Ah'll go change. Kitty?"

"Yeah?"

"Can Ah borrow a dress?"

"Sure."

Even with headaches, everyone in the room was very excited about seeing this. Most wanted pictures. Tabby went to spread the word.

Rogue groaned.

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Post-AN: it's kinda short, but I figured you'd want to get an update, despite length.


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